You're Not Supposed to Love Me
by Neross-qod
Summary: Fearful of her power and jealous of her closeness to her new husband Anora seeks for a way to subvert the new Arl of Amaranthine. In order to diminish her the Queen arranges a wedding with a husband who's reputation has been tarnished by scandal, Teyrn Loghain. Yet this elf, only just recovered from recent heartbreak, may just turn her wedding into a victory. Loghain/f!Surana(AU)
1. Bend the Knee

"You want me to… do…what?" Her voice was so calm, so quiet, so icy, that Alistair was sure the air had grown cold around her. He could not blame her, his response would have been the same if he had been stuck in the same situation. As it was his fellow warden stared up at his uncle with a steady and rather stoic gaze. Alistair was surprised when Eamon did not even flinch, though there was a certain nervous note to his voice as he spoke again.

"WE, " Eamon reiterated, his glance taking a moment to turn toward his nephew and king, upon Ferelden's throne, obviously attempting to make it seem as if it had not been his idea. In truth, it hadn't been, it was Anora's the queen who sat beside Alistair and the only one in the room who was not intimated by the cold gaze of the elf standing before the throne. ", would like to propose a betrothal between the Teyrn of Gwaren and yourself."

For a moment the flame-haired elven woman was silent and then she turned her gaze from Eamon to Anora, and Alistair did not miss the light of understanding that shone in the warden's blue eyes. "Loghain …you mean?" there was a slight pause in the elf's question and the king could see a vindictive sort of turn come to the tips of her pink lips. "You wish for me to marry one of my subordinates?"

Alistair had to fight hard to keep from laughing, he barely managed to hide the amused smile that wormed it's way onto his face. Tearanae Surana had not changed a single bit in the year since he'd last seen her. Of course she was not completely wrong. Although he was still the Teyrn of Gwaren, she was now the Arl of Amaranthine and the Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. In a way she was more powerful than them all. This, however, did not seem to be the Queen's way of thinking.

Anora frowned and raised her chin in a show of superiority and pride. "I should think my father is much more than that …Warden Commander."

Tearanae lowered her head slightly in a sign of respect for the queen, but everyone could feel the tension that existed between the two women. In truth this was a battle between them and the others were merely spectators. The thought irked Alistair slightly, he was, after all, the King. But when he considered the circumstances that gave him the throne he sat upon, he squashed the feelings that emerged and instead simply sat back to watch the exchange.

No doubt his wife would assume she had the upper hand. She was a human, Queen, intelligent, and vastly competent. Had she been facing down any other elf; any other woman, her will would have won out instantly. But Tearanae was no ordinary woman, let alone an ordinary elf. Even when they had first met the elf had been a step ahead of Anora. His Queen had, after a particularly enjoyable night of revelry, admitted that if Tearanae had not circumvented her she would have betrayed them to her father's knights. The elven mage was ingeniously cunning and even Alistair had to admit that her tactics, though unorthodox, were highly effective. The petite woman was like the eye of the storm that often raged around her, or else the deep abyss that waited at the bottom of a whirlpool. Quiet, nearly unseen, and deceptively dangerous.

Those few assembled of the Banorn watched as their King did, entranced by the clash of two such extraordinary women. Then, at last, the warden spoke and broke through the tense silence that had gathered. "May I ask your majesties why this has been asked of me? Am I, after all, not ill-suited to be wife to such a …fine man of the realm?" Her tone was light, casual, respectful, and nearly…amused. Those who looked on exchanged a nervous spurt of whispers as they attempted to interpret the mage's true-meaning behind the statement.

Alistair did not bother listening, he could see through his old friend in this exchange as if she were glass. She wanted to know if this were a reward from Anora, or a punishment. She was truly asking why Anora was proposing such a union…not why she had been chosen. Anora kept her expression neutral and the King strained to understand what his fair-haired wife was thinking as she replied.

"We find you more than aptly suited to marry my father, Warden Commander. To combine the houses of two of Ferelden's most honorable heroes will show a sign of unity to the common folk and a sign of strength to other lands." The Queen's tone was more neutral than the Warden Commander's had been, more…stately. Alistair shifted uncomfortably upon his throne, he did not like the turn in which this particular conversation was taking.

Tearanae did not alter her expression however, her slight smile and respectfully inclined head remained as they ever were. Only the fellow warden upon the throne could see the cogs turning in her head. Only he could see the way the elf's grip tightened, ever-so-slightly, upon the hilt of the blade upon her hip. "What's more," Anora went on, and now Alistair did turn to his wife, anxious of the painful words lurking behind her slight smile…a bit more cruel than the elf's before them. "We believe, based upon recent events, that the ruling of the arling of Amaranthine, needs a more experienced hand to help the area recover from recent hardships."

The words seemed to rush through the hall like the sharp talons of a hawk to strike the woman standing before the throne like a blade through the heart. Alistair was not the only one this time to catch the emotion swirling behind her mask of aloof amusement, for she gave something of a step backward that trembled. What's more the elf's lips twitched at the edges of her smile, she fought so valiantly to withhold her mask of indifference that Alistair nearly stood from his throne in order to rush to her side.

Anora felt him move and hastily grabbed his hand and shot him a glare. The blond man shifted in his seat and coughed uncomfortably to hide the awkward moment and then looked on with sympathy as his elven friend recovered herself and smiled.

"Is this a decision of the crown?" she asked, innocently enough, but Alistair could hear the meaning behind the words, and it made his heart ache with old feelings. She was asking if he'd agreed to this, if he'd also decided to take away her influence and settle her into a marriage with a man she did not love.

He hadn't. He could never have agreed. After all, he had once been in love with the woman standing there before him. Once. But she had refuted his advances, had fallen into the arms of another man who was all too happy to give as much love and…physical…affection as she wanted. But all of that was in the past. All of it. And even now, though he sat upon a throne, she was his dearest friend and he would have prevented this foul turn of events…if he could have. Sadly his wife, still scarred by her marriage to his half-brother, did not trust him not to act on old, long-dead feelings. So she had found a way to fix the problem…permanently.

A tight squeeze of his hand brought him back from his thoughts and Alistair turned to his queen and mournfully studied her suspicious glare. He sighed and turned to his friend with regret and nodded. "Yes…it is."

The tension in the room broke, the queen had won. The Warden Commander bowed and softly uttered her response, respectful, understanding…covered behind a mask of neutrality. In a way their positions had switched, the Queen's and the Commander's. Anora now sat with a mask of bemused aloofness, and Tearanae stood before her with a mask of neutrality that thinly veiled her devastated emotions.

"I understand." the red-haired elf muttered, sweeping into a bow, as she stood once more she tried her best to smile politely. " If that is the will of the crown then I shall yield to such a fine match. Gladly will I marry the Teyrn of Gwaren."


	2. Bowed but Unbroken

Alistair found the elven mage some time later, where she always was when she had such time on her hands. In the kitchen, practicing her potions art. The elf stood with her back to the door, her focus on the motor and pestle in her hands. She was working some sweet smell into the air as she ground up the leaves of a plant the man behind her could not even begin to identify. The King approached her from behind, coughing loudly to make his presence known. There was a slight pause in her motions before the elf settled and simply went on with her task. Never once looking up to see who it was.

"Your Majesty," she greeted, her voice level, calm, distant. He hated that she sounded that way. Hated that she did not bother to use his name. Hated that she would not even turn to look at him. Yet he could not blame her for doing so. He had, in a way, hurt her in the throne room that day.

"Don't do that." he said, running a hand through his hair staring at her back in a pleading sort of way.

"Do what, your majesty?" she said again, her tone the same as before.

He let out a desperate sound and went to her, not daring to touch her, not daring not to. His hand hovered instead over her shoulder and he stared at the frail bones there, begging her to turn. "Don't call me that! Damnit Tearanae you're the only one who calls me by my NAME anymore. I don't feel like a person save for when you're near. Please…Maker…please don't hate me."

He saw, more than heard, the forgiveness, the sympathy, the resignation, and the sorrow in her voice and the way her shoulders slumped. She hung her head as she set her work down on the table before her. " I could never hate you Alistair." she told him quietly. When she at last turned she was smiling, but it was lined with pain and he could see the way she fought back the tears in her eyes. "You are my brother." She said.

He felt a part of him shut down, the part of him that still loved her. Still, he smiled and allowed his hand to lay gently on her shoulder. Perhaps Anora was right to fear the connection between them after all, he thought as he stared at the delicate woman before him. "I…I know that. Thank you Tearanae. I…Maker I wish I could have prevented this. Anora she-"

The red-haired elf shook her head and held up a hand to stop him from saying any more. "No. I understand her mind. She fears that the relationship we share will threaten her position."

Alistair let out an amused sighed and returned his hand to his chest as he crossed his arms and grinned at his dear friend. " As Queen?" he asked with a roll of his eyes.

Tearanae shook her head and turned back to her potions work. "No. Her position as your wife. She is more delicate than she seems Alistair. You must take good care that she does not feel abandoned."

Alistair stared at the elf's back for a moment in surprise and then smiled hesitantly. She was right. But then, she always was. His mind turned from his wife to the upcoming nuptials planned for his friend and found that he was disquieted by the arranged marriage. Loghain was, after all, nearly twice his age and Tearanae…well…he imagined she was either his age or younger. No doubt it would be awkward for her, to be bound to a man so much older. A part of him doubted that they would ever have children. When he thought of how merely a few months ago the woman before him had been enraptured, still in love it broke his heart to think of the situation he had thrust upon her so suddenly.

"You could have said no you know." he told her.

Again her movements paused for a slow few heartbeats before she resumed her work, pouring the green, sweet smelling liquid into a small pot she kept over the fire. "If I had I would have lost the respect of Anora, and nearly all of the Banorn…not to mention the lords biting at my heels in Amaranthine."

Alistair made a sound of disagreement and she turned, placed a hand on her hip, and grinned at him. "Do not fret so Alistair. It is not so bad for me to wed the River Dane. He is a fine man and he has proven himself a fair brother in arms and an excellent general. He has even proven to be an excellent Warden, despite your reservations. I do not regret my decision. He will…be a fine husband."

He caught the catch in her voice before he ever saw the first tear fall. He took a step forward but she violently moved herself away from him, clasping a hand over her mouth and hiding her face from view behind a veil of red braids. He frowned as her shoulders shook in grief but knew better than to try and touch her, so instead he simply watched and waited for her to calm. After a moment she turned, wiping tears from her eyes and forced a smile. "I'm sorry…I. It's been a rough year." she said at length.

Alistair said nothing at first, allowing her the comfort of simple acknowledgement. She turned back to her motor and pestle and began to wash both with a water-skin she kept nearby. He waited until both were pristine and then at last tried once more to assure her she needn't go through with such a terrible plan. She wouldn't like it. But he took the low road. "I wonder what Zevran would say if he saw what you're forcing yourself to do."

This time there was no pause as she picked the leaves from a branch of some smooth-leaved plant. She did, however, shudder as the name slipped through Alistair's lips. "It no longer matters what Zevran might have said." she muttered after some time, her eyes never once moving from her task, "He is gone. He no longer has anything to do with my affairs."

He went to her side and placed a hand upon one of hers, forcing her to stop her action and look at him. There was sorrow and anger in her eyes but for once the king did not care. "You loved him Tearanae. He will always have a say."

She snapped her hand away from him and glared, stepping back and away, her eyes livid. "Do not speak his name to me! He betrayed me and thus no longer has a say in my affairs! You, of all men, should know that."

"You were lovers, it's only natural that you wouldn't be ready to-"

"We were more than that! Zevran was my heart, Ricker was my soul! I am not whole without them! I will NEVER be ready! " she exclaimed tears flowing down her face upon blue tracts traced years before he had ever met her by a tattooist needle. He regretted having brought real tears to that beautiful face. She deserved to smile after everything she had done. She deserved to be happy… he hated himself for doing this to her.

"Tearanae…I-"

"No!" she snapped, then she took in a shuddering breath, closed her eyes and reached up to her ear. She touched a small golden earring and gave something of a painful, wistful smile. With another shaky breath she calmed and looked at him once more, not smiling, but no longer crying. "No." she said softer this time. "Enough Alistair. It is my decision. And I have decided. I will marry Teyrn Loghain. And I will try to find some happiness in that."


	3. Devoured by the Young

Teyrn Loghain was, in fact, the last one to hear of his engagement. He learned of it only as he rode through the gates of Denerim after a particularly successful raid on a Darkspawn encampment with the group of warden's hand-picked by the Arl of Amaranthine herself. He had been so shocked to hear of it that he had chastised the first peasant who had congratulated him. He'd firmly told the woman she must be mistaken. But then it happened again…and again. And once more as he came to the palace and was greeted by Bann Teagan. Only then did he take the words of congratulations seriously.

The man did not look as if he meant the words of celebratory joy that poured from his mouth. In fact the man seemed almost, mournful, over the news. Loghain was furious. He rounded on the Bann and demanded to know why the whole of Denerim was intent on plaguing him with some poorly conceived jest.

Teagan blinked owlishly in surprise and his body language changed. His tone was almost, sympathetic as he addressed the Teyrn. "You mean…you did not know? But I was sure…we were all sure you were apart of it."

"Apart of what?!" Loghain snapped his eyes burning holes into the lord's face. "What, on the Maker's fine earth, are you babbling on about Teagan?"

The younger man leveled the Queen's father with a hesitant look of pity and then shook his head. His voice held a tone of reluctance as he began to explain, "Two days ago the Queen called for a council and announced that you should be betrothed."

Loghain swore and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger in a sign of irritation. He mumbled a curse against conniving women under his breath and then turned back to Teagan with a slightly softer gaze. "It seems my daughter has inherited my talent for strategy. Had I but been here…" he made a noncommittal gesture and let out a deep sigh. "I suppose it doesn't matter now. Where is my daughter? I find we have some things to discuss."

Teagan cinched his eyebrows and looked worried. "The Queen is currently attending to matters within her study. She asked not to be disturbed. "

The Teyrn snorted derisively and turned away from the other man and toward the hall that led to his daughter's study. " You forget Bann Teagan. Anora may be Queen, but she is still my daughter. I shall settle this ridiculous matter with her before day's end, you can be sure of that."

The Teyrn found Her Majesty exactly where Bann Teagan had told him, at home amongst a pile of official documents and maps of varying sizes and shapes. Despite his anger Loghain almost smiled at the sight of his daughter in her surroundings. She looked the picture of a woman dedicated, and for that he loved her. However, when he remembered what she had done in his absence his smile vanished, replaced once more by a surly glare. Something Anora noticed when she at last looked up and spotted him.

"Father! You're back from the south so soon!" Anora exclaimed, her face lighting up as she stood and came around her desk to embrace him.

It took Loghain some effort to hide his pleasure at his welcoming home-coming. One he had not felt as he had come through the city proper. "The wardens were more capable than I had anticipated. The Arl of Amaranthine has obviously trained them well. But come Anora, I do not wish to talk further about the wilds." he paused a moment when he saw guilt flash across his daughter's face before she hid it quickly away.

The dark haired man of Gwaren frowned in suspicion and displeasure and tilted his daughter's chin up so that she was forced to look him in the eye. "Is there something you have to tell me daughter? Perhaps something about a particular engagement?"he did not hide the venom in his voice and he felt no twinge of pain as Anora seemed to physically recoil at the accusation in his voice.

She looked up at him plaintively, like she had often as a child when she knew she had done something wrong. It triggered a deep instinct in him to suddenly pull her close and comfort her. He ignored it, she had proven that she was no longer a little girl. "I am sorry father it is just. You have not taken a wife since mother died…I want you to be happy."

Loghain did not, for a single moment, believe his daughter's words. She was lying to him. "Anora…"he growled, glaring at her.

She stiffened, rose her chin, and stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. "If you do not believe me then fine but it is, partially the truth."

"Anora…" he said again.

She stared at him for a moment, hesitant and contemplative, before at last she sighed and looked up at him in the way a child can only ever look at a parent they know they have disappointed. "It was not about you father. It was about her…and Alistair. How was I supposed to sit by and let them moon over one another while my back was turned!"

Loghain's glare darkened and grew a point of murderous intent. His mind flew to all sorts of conclusions and he could feel his face flush with anger. "Maric's bastard? He's taken a mistress?" Could no son of that man remain loyal to a wife. Must the entire Therin line betray him?

Anora let out a slow shaky breath and shook her head, "No. I don't believe so. At least…not yet. But there is obviously something between them. Something more than mere friendship. I know it! Though neither of them would admit it."

Her voice trailed off and Loghain began to wonder if Anora's fears were not all in her own mind. Still he felt pity for his child. For his daughter so cheated by her last husband that she now doubted her new one at every turn. "So you thought to bind such a woman to me? Did it not occur to you that I might not appreciate marrying a woman whose faithfulness lies in question?"

Anora closed her eyes and laid a hand upon a stack of books upon her desk. "It is not she who I believe to be unfaithful. She has proved her loyalty over and over again. It is her faithfulness I fear. She is loyal to him to the end. More so than she might ever be loyal to me. And Alistair…I fear he would beg her to be what he wanted of her…and she would not be able to refute him…not anymore. He is King, father, and I do not know if I have the power to stop him from becoming his father…or his brother."

She cinched her eyes together and then stared at him with the resolute authority and anger of a monarch. It was nearly frightening. "If I must nip this fascination in the bud by harming our relationship…then so be it. The people of Ferelden deserve to have a king worthy of them. I believe Alistair can be that king…once her influence upon his affections is removed."

Loghain looked at his daughter, his Queen, for some time in silence. He studied her and wondered when his little girl had changed into such a strong woman and ruler. Somewhere within him he heard the sound of his heart slowly breaking. "And what of me Anora? Do I no longer matter to you? Am I now…simply a pawn for you to play?"

She was quiet for a moment and then she went to him and embraced him, burying her face against the cold expanse of his armor. "No father. I simply hoped that you might be what you have always tried to be for me…a shield against harm."

He sighed and returned his daughter's hug for a brief moment before he pulled her away and stared into her eyes with reluctant acceptance. "If that is your wish Anora… then I will grant it for you."

She gave him a watery smile and kissed his cheek in thanks before she turned as if to return to her desk. "Just…one last thing if you would Anora?" He proposed as she sat once more. She looked up at him curiously and then made a gesture for him to continue with his question. Reluctantly he smiled in return.

"Who is this woman I am to be married to?"

The Queen did not attempt to hide her surprise. "Did Bann Teagan not tell you?"

"He did not."

She frowned for a moment and then simply shrugged and turned her eyes back to the work set out before her on her desk. "You are to wed the Arl of Amaranthine and Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. Tearanae Surana."

Loghain felt his blood turn to ice at the mention of that woman's name. Briefly he remembered a flash of red hair and then the sting of magic as he found himself trapped and crushed in an impossible prison. The mage who wielded a sword. The woman who defeated him in battle and debate at the Landsmeet. The elf who had spared him and allowed him to keep both his title and his dignity. Yes, truly, his blood ran cold.

"I fear, my daughter, that you have thrown me into the den of a dragon. That woman will be the death of me."


	4. Fair and Fairness

Loghain did not see his bride-to-be until two days after his return. Truthfully it had partially been by design. He had no desire to see the elf. At least, not yet. He was still trying to adjust the image he had of her in his mind, from a woman who he respected as a rival, to a woman who he could see sharing his bed. It was not the easiest thing to do.

It wasn't because she was a terrible prospect. Far from it. The tiny elven mage he'd met nearly two years ago had quite a few particularly stunning traits. And he would not be the first to admit that she was beautiful; gorgeous even. But this was a woman who he had attempted to kill. A woman who had pondered and easily considered killing him. Even some time afterword when he had been spared and had begun traveling with her strange band of misfits there had been a lingering tension between them.

The warden was reserved in the way she spoke and fiercely practical in her practices. Though kind she could easily turn on a dime and give into necessary cruelty. She was as enigmatic to him now as she had been on the eve of that faithful battle so long ago. So when he met her in the hall of the palace he was not prepared to address their new, albeit strange, relationship.

Yet there she was. He had been headed toward the armory to see to the care of the weaponry for the troops when she appeared from a room down the hall. She was carrying two small books and a scroll of some sort and was clearly attempting to be careful not to drop her burden as she shut the door behind her. She paused in the action however and looked up with something of a mix of surprise and hesitant, embarrassed, horror. The expression was quickly vanished however and soon the aloof, practical smile he knew of her once more graced her lips. He stopped across the hall from her and pondered for a brief few, frantic moments, on how to address her.

As if sensing his distress she simply smiled a bit softer and titled her head down in a slight bow of respect. "Teyrn Loghain."

"Arl Tearanae." he replied, offering her the same respect she had shown him.

He shifted his weight and squared his shoulders, unsure of how to begin a conversation, let alone how to broach the subject of their upcoming nuptials. Thankfully she spared him discomfort once again as she addressed the matter first, tucking a stray strand of spun flame behind her ear. "I have…been informed that our wedding will be held two weeks from now…"

So soon? Loghain pondered the hasty date for only a moment. Most likely it had been his daughter's idea. He took a moment to clear his throat and he managed to take a step closer to the elf who looked about as comfortable in the moment as he did. "Ah …yes. I have heard that the ceremony shall take place in the throne room and the reception at Arl Eamon's estate."

She gave a single nod and reached up to nervously tug on a jeweled earring upon her right ear, her eyes not daring to meet his. "Is it? That's um…that is it sounds as if it shall be quite an event."

"Yes," he muttered studying the delicate tapering of the elf's chin. If nothing else it would not be hard to lay with her. She was as pretty as a sprite. "I am sure it will be."

The elf, perceptive thing that she was, shot a glance up at him and seemed surprised for a severe moment of silence as she studied his face for something. What that was he had very little clue. But after a tense moment she seemed to have not found what she was searching for. Her brow furrowed a bit in something close to confusion and Loghain found himself finding the expression almost…cute. There was rarely a time when the elf was not cooly aloof, a slip of a smile upon her lips. Now she frowned and looked very much like that fierce woman he'd faced in the ring…like some sort of elven warrior goddess.

The first time he'd seen her, he'd found her strength …irritating and nostalgic. She'd obscurely reminded him of another elven woman from his youth. A strong, beautiful woman whom he'd trusted…and who had betrayed him and those closest to him. Getting to know her on the road he'd learned he'd been wrong about her. Her strength was different from the elf he'd known in his youth. The warden's strength was enclosed passion simmering under the surface, a barely restrained storm burning on the horizon. Her strength was one that had been learned, a wall to cover the emotional woman within. The few times he'd seen that wall fall…well…there at least they had something in common.

Her curious glance fell away and she shifted her feet awkwardly until at last she sighed, bowed her head and smiled, "If you'll excuse me then my lord…I find I have some research to conduct."

Loghain rose a brow and studied the books in her hands once more. "Ah…the old Grey Warden archives I had sealed away. I see someone finally found them for you."

There was an odd tilt to the corner of her lips and he recognized the sort of arrogant pride in her eyes he'd never quite seen before. "No. I located them myself. Although the servants you used to move the Grey Warden's armaments, supplies, and records were most helpful in locating what I needed."

Loghain stared at the woman in surprise…and mild irritation. "Does loyalty mean nothing anymore?" he growled irritably.

Tearanae's expression became solitary and solemn, "Depends on who you expect them to be loyal to. While you reigned as regent you allowed a man who tortured and abused them to run free and wild. I…on the other hand…am one of them. I have experienced many of the pains they have…and I can even be friendly when I wish. That alone inspires loyalty of a kind." she told him.

He studied her for a moment and then forgot himself and smiled. "I suppose it does."


	5. Troubled Specters

After that first meeting within the hall the Teyrn found himself either searching his bride-to-be out from time to time…or else found by the elf in a similar fashion. They said few words to each other at such instances, but it was something of a learning experience Loghain had to admit. It seemed, for the most part, that the Commander of the Grey was quite the competent leader even at a time of relative peace. He had come to recognize her potential as leader while amongst her rag-tag band…but waging war and ruling peace were two very different things. But, he supposed, the Grey Wardens were ever at war. Her days consisted of studying old journals and tomes written by Warden Commanders past, dutifully preparing potions and poultices, studying and attending to letters and business forwarded from the seneschal at Vigil's keep, and (of all things for a mage to do) practicing her sword-work.

He'd been more than surprised when he'd found her at the Landsmeet, sword at her hip and clad in light armor like some sort of warrior. After all everything he knew of her cried 'mage'. Yet like everything else about her she was not of the average sort. Though her form was poor, the power of her swing was something to be admired. A talent, he'd later learned, she'd acquired after learning the long-dead talents of an old elven Arcane Warrior. And now, apparently, she'd added to that set of skills by acquiring the talents of a Battle Mage as well. He was more than impressed to see the improvement she made with each day and her skillful use of her magic more than made up for the lack of finesse she had with a blade.

Yet she observed him as well. There were the few odd occasions where he'd look up from a map he'd been pouring over and find her silently observing from a corner of a room. Once, while surveying Ser Cauthrien's newly trained recruits, he'd spotted her out of the corner of his eye, watching almost gleefully from the shadows of the training yard. But when he looked again she'd always be gone. She was nearly like a specter in the silent way she appeared at the corner of his daily life.

And then, oddly enough, one week before their wedding the first bit of disturbance came. It was past mid-day and Loghain had gone to the practice yard, thinking of finding his betrothed at work there once again. He was contemplating whether or not to help her alter her form so her swing would prove more effective, when a servant ran past him in a panic, bandages and towels in hand. The Teyrn stopped in his tracks and stared curiously as two more servants quickly followed, one carrying a bowl of ice and another a large supply of poultices. He stopped the later one and shot him a curious, if concerned, glance. "What's going on here? Has someone been injured?"

The servant, a young human lad with raven locks stuttered for a moment before at last lowering his head respectively and muttering in his most hurried fashion. "M'Lord Loghain! Oh! Um…we were sworn to silence sir!"

Loghain furrowed his brow and glared at the pale boy in his grasp and tightened his hold a bit, making it clear the boy was going nowhere until he'd been answered to satisfaction, "By who? What has happened that you must be so silent to the Queen's father?"

The boy visibly paled and shook with a mild amount of fear, "'Tis by the Warden's order ser. She was riding and the horse threw her. She bade us all to silence ser. I beg of you! Do not tell the lady I broke my word! "

The old general gave grunt of disgust and released the boy, "Maker damned fool." he growled under his breath, turning on his heel and storming down the hall in the direction of the Warden's quarters.

They were easy to find, having once belonged to him in the days when Maric reigned. His quarters had since changed several times, his current lodgings in the guest quarter of the palace. It felt odd to him to be traveling to his old room to see to the woman who had once proved to be his enemy and then his ally…and now his wife-to-be. He growled, slightly furious at the thought, and brushed past the poor serving girl who'd been in a rush to leave. His entry to the room was noted by all with quiet looks of resigned horror or guilt…save for the small pale elf laying upon the bed at the edge of the room. She, he noted, merely seemed to sigh with some sort of anticipated annoyance. He found this, more than all else, an affront to his pride.

He turned his wrath upon the servants milling about her bed, and the physician, caught in the act of putting away his tools. "Leave us." he snapped, his voice harsh with command. There was a momentary pause in which all those he'd commanded looked to the bed and the woman lying there, propped up amongst pillows and looking more slightly put-off than seriously injured. She gave a simple nod and to Loghain's immense irritation, only THEN, did they all hurriedly flee the room.

He waited a moment in the awkward silence that followed. Then at last he turned to her in fury, "You ordered them to silence against me. Why?"

The elf rose a brow and adjusted her position upon the bed with some effort, "I ordered them to silence against everyone. The news that I had been injured would only have caused unnecessary panic."

Loghain could see the sense in that, yet it still perturbed him all the same. "And I, of course, appear the sort to panic unnecessarily?" He growled. He paused a moment when all his betrothed did was shrug and then at last let out a sigh and found a nearby chair to pull close and sit upon. "I take it your injuries are not severe then, as you appear calm enough to circumvent half the castle."

The elf sighed and regarded him in a tired way, her eyes almost appearing dazed, "Compared to being flung about on the back of an Archdemon, falling from a horse is much less severe yes. I was quite fine until the stallion mistakenly kicked me in the leg. I would have healed in moments had the idiotic lout of a court physician actually listened to my council and used one of my own potions to heal the wound. As it is I am now half-dazed and quite numb." She retorted, her expression actually falling into clear displeasure and annoyance as she recounted the last bit of her encounter.

She calmed then however and soon resumed her normal mask of slight indifference, she sighed and turned her gaze to the ceiling of her room. Loghain pondered her outburst for a moment, crossing his fingers before him in contemplation. "Could you not heal the wound yourself with a spell? Why call for the physician at all?"

To his surprise the woman turned a slight shade of pink and appeared embarrassed, "I…I have no skill with healing spells. Every time I attempt to cast one I just wind up turning whatever I'm casting at some sort of odd color. The last time I tried it was a very bright shade of fuchsia. Jowan and I were the laughing stock of our entire apprentice class for a week." she informed him, sounding not at all pleased to admit to such an embarrassing fault. Loghain himself found the idea amusing and had to fight to keep from smiling.

"I can see then why you seem so focused on your potions and salves. Shall I fetch the proper one for you or would you prefer to lie there dazed and numb as you put it?" he asked her.

She shot him a weak glare that quickly softened into strangely amused and embarrassed smile. "No, you don't need to trouble yourself. I already sent someone to find what I need. I doubt they'll be very long."

Loghain nodded after a moment and then turned his gaze to where he could see her legs were beneath her expanse of sheets and blankets. His brow furrowed as he added this latest wrinkle into the plans for their upcoming nuptials and began to worry if she would be too injured to walk. "The injury is severe I'll grant you but with a few well applied potions and poultices I should be well enough again by tomorrow eve." she told him, as if reading his thoughts.

He looked up at her with a frown, clearly frustrated that she'd been able to read him so well and then turned his attention back to her leg, "You have that much confidence if these potions of yours?"

"Yes." she said simply, her voice just slightly prideful.

The old general shot her a speculative glance before shaking his head and looking over at the elf once more. It had been some time since he'd seen her in such a state of undress. When they'd traveled together from Denerim to Solider's Peak, and then on to Redcliffe to defeat the blight he had often seen her in a shift in the late and early hours when she at last took to sleep. He would be lucky, however, if that was all he saw. For the elf was near to constantly consorting with the elven assassin he'd sent to kill her …and the other Warden who had acted so much like her shadow. The three of them had been inseparable…until the war had ended and the two men had run off together to Antiva, leaving her jilted and alone.

And now she was being forced to marry him, it seemed a cruel joke of the Maker.

There was a soft breath of laughter from the bed and Loghain looked up in surprise to find the elf softly smiling at him. "You appear deep in thought. Is something troubling you?" she asked leaning into her bed of pillows a bit further.

Loghain hesitated to answer her, afraid that she would see through him but too fearful of insulting her to tell her the truth. The lie, he concluded, would be less cruel. "I was contemplating what colors you would wear at our wedding. You never did tell me where you are from."

The elf turned a rather attractive shade of pink and looked away from him in embarrassment for a moment. "To be honest I am unsure. My earliest years were spent amongst the Dalish, but I remember nothing of their marriage traditions…and I know nothing of alienage traditions save from what Ricker told me." She paused at the mention of the other elven Warden's name before giving him something of a bashful smile, "After some discussion with the Reverend Mother it was decided that I would wear the colors of the Grey Wardens. My only other option was to adopt the colors of Amaranthine…but as the last of the Howes currently serves under my command I considered that to be a touch unkind." She explained.

The old human general nodded, her logic was sound. "I'd imagine a great deal of the nobles back in the arling would take it as an insult as well. It's considerate of you to consider Howe's whelp before them I grant you."

She smiled at his poorly worded and rather veiled compliment and gave a simply tilt of her head toward him, "Speaking of Nathaniel, how well did he fare under your command during your raids in the south?"

He studied her for a moment, trying to ascertain her meaning behind the question. In the end he realized she simply meant what she had asked. It always did surprise him when she hid nothing in this way, as so often she was more calculating than he fathomed. There were quite a few times when a simple question from her had come to mean much more than it seemed at the time. And times when a question was simply a question. With her it was hard to tell the difference, but there was no guile in this question, no motive. She questioned like this only about her companions, for she cared for them more than she cared for whatever machinations she might possibly be able to form. And always in the end, whatever plains she laid, were always for the benefit of her companions in arms. They were the foremost in her thoughts, she served as their sword and as their shield and asked little in exchange. She was loyal, and in that way she reminded him of Maric…of all things. "He did well, he's stubborn, and has a knack for following his own plan despite what orders are given to him, but he's clever and one hell of a rogue. I would go so far as to say that he reminds me of myself when I was in my youth."

The elf perked up at this notion, her smile turning surprised, though a bit cunning. The way a great deal of women smile when they believe they have learned something normally beyond them. But unlike most women there was no malicious intent behind the smile Tearanae showed him. "That is a great deal of praise to come from you. He must truly have surpassed your expectations." She settled against her pillows and leaned heavily against them, clearly growing more drowsy due to the medication.

"I have little doubt that he owes a great deal of his skills to your tutelage. For a mage you know a great deal about the ways of subtly and swords. Each man you send me puts twenty of mine to shame. I am unsure whether to be jealous, or concerned that I am losing my touch." He told her with a bit of an impish smile of his own.

Her eyes drifted slightly downward and she gave a small sigh. "Of the two I would side with jealousy. From what I have observed your touch has not dwindled in the slightest."

He blinked as he looked at her, unsure if she knew how that innocent statement of hers could be…interpreted. He attributed it to her drugged state and was glad when the boy she sent earlier decided to at last arrive, a bundle of potions in hand. Exhausted the warden could not even be bothered to turn her head toward him so it was up to Loghain to wave the young servant boy in. Nervously the boy entered and the old warrior waved him over and took the satchel he carried before dismissing him with a wave of his hand. The boy nodded, and left without a word. For which the old general was glad. The door had barely shut before the woman amongst the cushions and blankets had drifted off into a light slumber. He tapped her lightly on the arm, but she did not awaken.

He shook his head and leaned over her, "Wake up girl," he ordered, his tone insistent but not truly loud. She stirred but could not seem to truly rouse herself from sleep. He sighed and turned to the contents of the satchel, thankfully discovering a list of instructions inside as well as the various potions. There were only three and the instruction were surprisingly clear. The blue one was to be administered first to combat the effects of the drowsing and numbing concoction the castle medic had given her. The green one should then be poured over her wound to heal it directly. Lastly came the deep red potion to eliminate the pain of the healing process. Both the blue and the red had to be ingested. Which, he admitted, would be hard to accomplish with the elf in a deep drug induced sleep.

He studied her pretty, peaceful, content form and gave something of a mischievous grin. Well, after all, she was to be his wife. He uncorked the first potion and was instantly assaulted with the scent of mint and the sharp tang of citrus. He had no idea where she had found citrus fruit so far south, nor could he remember the last time he smelled such a scent so strongly, but it was a welcome smell. He poured a healthy amount of the potion into his mouth and then turned and forced the elf's face toward his own. He placed his mouth against hers, forced her lips apart with his tongue, and forced the potion into her mouth before "encouraging" it down her throat. He lifted her head back and made sure she swallowed the concoction. Satisfied that she had, he pulled back the blankets that covered her form and reached for the second potion. He turned back just as she was beginning to stir and hiked up blue sleeping gown she wore to pour the green potion across her bruised and marred flesh. This second potion reeked of cinnamon and cloves, a strong stench that might have been pleasing were it not so strong. Carefully he rubbed this second cure into her bruised wound with a gentle hand, surprised at how extensive the damage truly was, but glad that he could focus on that and not the porcelain flesh of her thigh that otherwise surrounded the large bruise.

Just as he finished she stirred awake, her blue eyes fluttering open sharply, she coughed slightly and looked first at her wound and state of dress and then at him. Color seared her cheeks, but he did not care, he pulled out the cork of the final potion with his teeth and drank in the sweet mixture that tasted of wine and short bread. Before she could form a word against or for his actions he pushed his mouth against hers once more. He poured in what he had drained from the flask into her mouth and felt her stir and resist against him before she swallowed the potion and relaxed. When he pulled away her face was flushed and her expression utterly confused as well as off-balance.

It was the first time he'd ever seen such an expression upon that normally cool exterior. He found he rather enjoyed it. Such an expression reminded him of the fresh-faced girl she'd been when they'd first met on the eve of battle at the ruins of Ostagar nearly two years ago. It was, however, still wrong, age and youth battled for dominance in her eyes. As if she were old and young at the same instance. He pulled away from her and retook his seat not bothering to read the emotions coursing through her expressive eyes.

"I trust you feel more like yourself now?" he asked her, retaining an air of calm.

In truth that simply touch of her flesh had begun to stir his blood in ways he had not felt in many years. He needn't focus hard on the reason why. The elf was beautiful, there was little denying that, young as she was. He was a man, presented with such comely flesh, how could he have been expected to ignore what were ultimately such natural urges.

He heard her stir rather than saw her and turned slightly to see her examining the work he'd done on her leg. After a moment she turned slightly and gave him a rather shy glance. Something he hadn't expected considering her relationship with the assassin and the thief. She let out a small cough and then a short noise of discomfort before finally turning her eyes upon him. "I, yes, I feel a great deal better. I…thank you." she told him carefully.

Then, hesitantly she tucked an errant strand of hair behind one of her large pointed ears and gazed up at him nervously. "Shall…shall we try the kiss again?"

He rose a brow in surprise and studied her for a moment to see if she were serious. One glance at the way she bit her lip and glanced up at him from beneath her brows, her eyes half-lidded, was enough to tell him she at least meant to try. Why, he had no idea. She had seemed so naively embarrassed by the act the first time he'd done it. Yet her she was no, engaging him. Nearly egging him on. Her expression, her entire form, was innocent, but her eyes. Damn her, her eyes hinted at desire. A desire greater and more intense then he had ever seen in a woman before. Clearly something that had been cultivated in her by the assassin and the thief she had spent so much intimate time with.

Despite himself, he smiled wickedly, "As you wish, m'lady." he told her as he took her face in his hands and kissed her. He began delicately, but she was no longer a passive player who laid back and simply accepted what he gave. She pushed back, her mouth sweetly demanding as she touched and prodded and guided his tongue with her own. She teased him expertly and drove what he knew of kissing completely asunder.

Why had he thought her to be an innocent? Her tongue was as talented as a whore's and yet that distinct innocence remained. It was that touch of innocence that drew him in deeper. He wanted more of her so he pushed the kiss deeper, pushed her back against the bed and the pillows. His hands moved from her face to her waist and her thigh. She gasped against him and he pressed harder and only then did she cry out in pain. He drew away harshly, realizing his mistake. She pulled herself up and gently caressed her wounded leg, the bruise showing brighter now that the healing potion had begun to do it's work.

He turned away from her, and berated himself. He was too old to be acting this way. Too old and experienced enough to know not to press himself upon a wounded woman. He stood and stepped away from the bed, and from the temptation she stood for. "Forgive me Tearanae that was…inappropriate."

She was quiet for a moment and sat up to study him, he didn't look at her but after a moment he could practically hear a wicked smile bloom upon her face as she told him, "Perhaps, but it was also…wonderful."

He could feel his face heat up under her comment and was glad for the interruption as the door opened and a few new servants entered to see to the Arl's needs. He left abruptly as they entered and retreated as quickly as he could to his own quarters. To hide. And to relieve himself.


	6. Poisoned by My Own Fruit

Days passed and at last the day before the wedding arrived. A day Loghain was not looking forward to. For, as in tradition, today he would be creeled, or else made to carry stones around the whole of Denerim until his bridegroom decided to grace him with a kiss. After his last encounter with the elf he had gone back to trying to avoid her. Thankfully it was easy to do as the preparations for the wedding and surrounding celebrations soon become nearly all consuming. Regardless the thought of her had all but driven him mad. At night he could taste her still upon his lips, and she haunted him in his dreams like some demon of desire formed from the fade to torment him with light touches both innocent and demanding. He berated himself for such thoughts, for such dreams, knowing that as a man near twice her age he should consider the very likely fact that she might not want anything to with him.

His desires were, he thought, selfishly one-sided, their heated kiss a result of his own weakness. He had, in his mind, taken advantage of her in not only a weakened state but a nearly inebriated one. He was sure then that she must be disgusted with him and he would not be surprised if she forced him to traverse the whole of Denerim twice for his transgression, withholding her kiss to make him suffer for the sin of believing she might find him as attractive as he found her.

Regardless of his feelings of resignation, as well as his resistance, the ex-general was dragged from his bedchamber just as the sun had barely begun to show itself upon the face of Thedas by Ser Cauthrin as well as several of the banorn who still supported him. Putting up a fight nearly the entire way Loghain was strapped to a large woven basket and pushed from the doors of the Denerim Palace dressed in the lightest and least fine of his armor they could find for him. It felt strange being in leathers once more, it was even more strange to see the odd mixture of both wicked and innocent delight from the common people as he was forced and guided through the streets of Denerim by none other than the King and his entourage. Loghain had little doubt that Maric's bastard son took secret delight in seeing the weight upon Loghain's back grow and his burden grow to the point of becoming nearly painful to bear.

Still, other than this minor wickedness Alistair did nothing to impeded the procession. Loghain had to admit, if only to himself, that the boy was growing well into his responsibilities as a ruler. He was proving more adept than Cailan ever had and was proving to be a formidable force on his own even if he did often look to Eamon and other advisers for advice. He disliked having the crown on his shoulders there were few who could deny seeing it. But then Maric had never enjoyed the crown either…and it was apart of that which had made him a good ruler. Whatever doubts the old general had once had about the boy were slowly fading, and he had little doubt that most of Alistair's growth and determination came from the actions of one small elf with red hair who could direct those who followed her more accurately than a playwright could direct a stage.

By the time Loghain made the full circuit through the whole of Denerim and returned to the Palace his load had become uncomfortably heavy and as he came up the Palace steps he expected to find no one waiting for him. And yet, to his surprise, there was Anora and her procession and a gaggle of Grey Wardens … with Tearanae at the head. She had forgone her normal robes for the occasion and donned a dress. The color and dress had no doubt been chosen for her, but Maker bless whoever had done so, for she looked a vision standing in the rays of the morning sun. The dress was strictly Ferelden in make and style, without a touch of real Orlesian influence. As such it was simple in make, a simple shift of silver cloth, it draped below her shoulders and at the crest of her breasts, the small but luscious mounds put on excellent display no doubt because of a corset beneath her dress. The belt draped around her thin waist was a deep and rich blue , as was the trim at the hem of her sleeves, the hem of her skirt, and the length of her collar. That small bit of color brought out all the color in her it seemed, and he loved the beauty of her draped before him.

He came up before her and knelt, his burden slightly eased as he came down to his knees before her. And still he thought she would not kiss him, after all she stood there silent, staring down at him with her fathomless eyes of blue. Until a small smile grew upon her lips and she leaned over to place a kiss upon his lips. To all appearances the kiss was innocent and almost chaste. But there was a touch of hunger to the kiss that made Loghain's knees week. Just a touch of pressure that allowed him to taste that same unique trait of innocence bound up in bottomless desire.

Loghain was so relieved to be kissed at all that he dropped his great weight and reached out to take hold of his wife to be. Gently he took her face in his hands and returned her kiss. And it was only due to her own laughter, her own quick thinking, that he remembered propriety and duty and drew away. A strange and almost awkward silence had fallen over the gathered crowd, but Nobility and Peasant alike. Until the small elf, with all her cunning and knowledge smiled and took his hand so that he stood and turned with him toward the crowd of peasantry and kissed him again upon his cheek before turning to them with a smile and stated clearly for them all to hear, "Rejoice people of Denerim! For tomorrow I will wed your River Dane! I have accepted him as my bride groom for what other man in this realm could be considered finer and be counted amongst the living?And when we are wed it will not be just Darkspawn that run when they see of my approach, but Orlesians as well! Two heroes will wed tomorrow! And with the grace of the maker you shall have more heroes likes us in the ages ahead!"

Her cheeky, cheerful, and inspiring little speech had the people laughing and cheering and delighting in an uproarious clamor. The din rushed over them from both before them and from behind in answer and Tearanae gave a wide smile and turned to him, her eyes expectant. The silent notion did not go unnoticed and together the two bowed. The crowd grew louder and respectfully the couple waved and turned away, arm in arm, toward the palace. Together they walked beside the King and Queen up the Palace steps and in the great keep. And Loghain could see, out of the corner of his eye, how his daughter and the elf upon his arm looked upon one another. There was a strange play of power there, a contention that teetered on the verge of a grudge in Anora's eyes. It took him mere moments to decipher the meaning. The elf had turned the tables upon Anora in this act.

She had made her marriage to him, what should have been a down-turn in her power and influence, into a major upswing. In one foul swoop she had taken away the illusion the Queen had held that she were somehow more important or had held the upper hand. And to be honest Loghain was neither surprised, nor irritated by the idea…simply impressed. The elf, it appeared, was far more clever than anyone ever gave her credit for. Including, if Loghain guessed correctly, those who looked upon her favorably or failed to underestimate her. Suddenly he wondered if he had not simply let the elf speak that night before the battle at Ostagar if the outcome would not have been far different than the reality.

Aw well, such speculations were not meant for stewing over and Loghain was not one for ruminating on the past. What's more, the day was far from over and there was much to be done. Not the least of which was to be his betrothed small moment of embarrassment held before the grand feast. A sight, he admitted only to himself, he was quite looking forward to.


	7. Temperance Fills my Chalice

Loghain was thankfully able to rest after his morning activities, as the center focus of the wedding party with no further role to play until later that evening he was allowed to be blissfully left alone. In fact no one bothered to even so much as address him until the sun had begun to dip below the horizon and night began to fall. Even then it was only to ensure he was properly attired for the pre-wedding feast. To his surprise and just a touch of confusion the servants that attended to him seemed much more pleasant and attentive than they had been before. He didn't dare ask why, after all would he really have liked the answer? Instead he made the wise decision to simply accept the pleasant turn of events. His hardships, after all, were done for the day.

Although he was never particularly one for dances and fancy feasts. Such gaiety had always been the realm of nobles far above his station, even after he was named Teyrn of Gwaren and took his place aiding Maric and Rowan in the duties of ruling a nation. Not that they had needed much help when they both stood upon the throne. Regardless, even as unused to such pageantry and revelry as he was he could not help but admit to a touch of excitement at the thought of the upcoming feast. After all, it was in the honor of his upcoming marriage. He should at least be somewhat entertained and enthralled at the idea. Even if he was still unsure about his so-called beloved bride.

Speaking of which Loghain couldn't help but smile a bit wickedly to himself as he considered the fate that awaited that petite elf who carried herself like a queen. She would be made to serve him and the others of the wedding party in order to prove her worth as a wife. It would be entertaining to see such a strong, proud enemy of his forced to serve him like- the ex-general stopped mid thought, suddenly realizing his mistake. He was underestimating her once more, he was still thinking of her as that irritating sprite stuck to Eamon's side like a mockingbird pipping platitudes in his ear. But she was more than that. He knew that, come to learn that through hardship and toil.

He was not some child's fairytale villain that plotted and chortled at the idea at an old enemy laid low. The elf had not been his enemy since she had chosen to spare his life and induct him into the Grey Wardens. What's more he had even come to think of her as something akin to a friend. Something he had not known in his life since Maric's untimely death. Even Ser Cauthrian as generous as she was concerning his character was a subordinate…an ally, but not a friend.

The elf had, in her own way, managed to spur him into speaking of those things which mattered most to him, without any true outward judgement. Even after all he had done she had seen fit to grant him a second chance and defied those who begged her to end his life. Many of those dissenting voices had been those dear to her, older than her, seemingly wiser, and infinitely more powerful in the eyes of Ferelden. Yet the elf had held fast and denied them all and granted him mercy. It dawned upon him that he had never bothered to ask her why. And now her life and her future happiness was in his hands and the most he could think to do was delight in the thought of her filled with misery.

What sort of man was he?

He berated himself, as he knew Rowan would have done…as Maric would have done. The elf deserved more from him. She was about to be his wife, if he expected to receive any happiness in the situation then he had to make an effort for her sake as well. In a very real way his future happiness depended upon hers. With that thought in mind the Teyrn finished changing for the feast. They dressed him in the colors of Gwaren, red, gold, and amber. Rich colors that reflected a fading summer or beginning light of Autumn. Fitting considering he was in the autumn of his years.

The white shirt he wore was of fine make, the sleeves hemmed with a staccato frame of golden leaves and red droplets of holly berries. Over this shirt he wore a fine silk tunic of amber wrought with lines of bronze and gold bricks like the framework of a castle hall. Like many nobles he wore trousers of a fine dark fabric the color of muddy red clay. He wore his finest pair of hunting boots forged from soft fawn leather and stitched with drakeskin. What's more, for this particular occasion, he wore a belt of thick gold and deep red gemstones. Not the rich sort of deep red of a rubies brought up from Orzamar and the deep of the dwarves city and mines but the lighter red of stones born of the same ore as iron and copper.

As nearly light as they were dark in color, as reflective as cloudy glass. The softer gems did him credit though, bearing up light and the color of his eyes and the shades within his hair. Not that this would have mattered much to him. What he would have preferred to wear were his old leathers, dark and rich and worn from use and years spent upon the road. Still, he could at least appreciate the touch of such fine materials. Loghain dismissed his attendants when they had finished helping him dress and made his way alone to the grand feasting hall where the pre-wedding celebration awaited him.

As in many things Loghain arrived earlier than many might have deemed necessary. He did this because, like a great deal of things in his life, he disliked not being aware of each and every angle he could. He stood then, waiting in his place until Anora, her new king, and the entire wedding procession ( and quite a deal more as well ) at last arrived. Loghain took his seat beside Anora, to her left and thus the left of the King, at the head table. There were several speeches made concerning the health of the bride and groom as well as to their prosperity. Most were a short and entertaining affair. Though a great deal of them were dry as well, seeming to have been cobbled up last minute as a show of support without any real meaning.

And last of course to say words on his behalf was Anora. Her speech was a long affair compared to that of the others. A true and proper royal speech that honestly seemed a bit too well thought out and emotional for Loghain's tastes. Once she was finished however the symbol for the feast to begin was given and everyone sat back expectantly. The music began and the lilting sounds of violins, violas, flutes, and virginals floated up to surround the feast goers with the proper atmosphere, the drum beat only coming into play after so many of repetitions of the tunes simplest melody. At the highest point in the tune the wide doors to the palace's grand hall opened and the servants poured in. At their head in the lightest dress of rich emerald green, came the Commander of the Grey, Arl of Amaranthine, and Hero of Fereldon…with a large tray held carefully within her arms.

The tray sported a large jug of mead, and a single goblet with two handles on either end. The handles represented the two lives coming together to be joined and the mead within would be the overflowing plenty they should have in the years to come. The dress she wore was practically a sheath, looking ragged from afar before the true finery of it's design became clear as she drew closer. Like a collection of fresh green leaves overlapping one over the other. It was clear the elf had chosen a dalish dress for the night's affair. The light and delicate material overlying her thin, petite frame made her seem like a tiny nymph born from the wisp of a tree and a touch from the fade. She'd let her hair free and undone, as tradition dictated, her last night as a free maiden required that her hair be free.

Her legs were bare up to her knees where the hem of her dress draped like a canopy of spring fresh leaves. Upon the peak of her bust and around the upper turn of her shoulders fell the collar of her fine dress a coil of golden leaves and vines twisting in an intricate display of craftsmanship. Her sleeves were long and fell like a waterfall of light silk from just beneath the curve of her shoulder to the tops of her knuckles, flaring out like a bell to make her hands appear smaller than they already were. She looked both succulent and delicate a ray of sunshine through the forest in the middle of the night in the largest city of Ferelden.

As always she was a fascinating, but strange sight. She came before him and offered him the goblet with a soft and slightly chagrined smile. He accepted it easily and nearly happily and held it out before him as she used those frail, delicate looking arms to lift the large pitcher upon her tray to fill the goblet nearly to the rim. She spilled not a single drop, a good omen by all considerations. Loghain smiled at his wife-to-be rather proudly before he raised the honey-sweetened spirit to his lips. He drank the contents dry and held out his cup for more. The elf's expression turned slightly knowing and a bit sly. Telling him with her eyes 'don't over do it'.

He smiled back, "I won't slip into my cups my dear, I am simply thirsty."

She gave a brief laugh and nodded her head before she refilled his cup and stepped back at last turning to give her attention to the rest of those gathered within the hall. It seemed that there was little demand for mead amongst the high table a great deal of those seated turned the slim elf away, even the King, though he did smile warmly at her as he refused. She nodded at those she passed and turned to see to the lower tables. And suddenly the demand for mead was great. Everywhere the pretty elf turned there was a new man calling for her attention.

Loghain watched, a touch irritably, as his betrothed was called to serve man after man. there were a few women who called for her attention as well, but their number was less than a tenth that of the men. Most who called for her to serve them seemed to be only seeking a chance to speak to her; to shake her hand and say they had met or been served by the Hero of Ferelden. But the men, in an ever-growing number as the night went on, seemed to have an ulterior motive in mind as well. The way they glanced at her, the way they called out to her, the way they reached out or let their hands linger on her petite form. It was all very apparent to see.

His bride-to-be was particularly popular amongst her own brethren. They took a special delight in calling her back, time after time to serve on them. To his relief the Grey Wardens appeared to have little in mind other than to tease her. A bit of ribbing at their friend's expense. All save for one. The Howe boy, Nathaniel. Wherever she turned his eyes followed her steps. When he called for her to refill his cup there was a touch of longing in his gaze as he refused to take his eyes off of her. Every now and then, when she could not see him, he stared at her as if he were dying with every smile she sent to another man. The Howe boy was in love with her. And suddenly Loghain understood exactly how the lad felt. He had felt the same way as he had watched and called upon Rowan the night before her wedding to Maric.

The Howe pup was deep in love with his Commander, and she either had no clue or was purposefully avoiding the situation. Without warning the old general felt a stab of pain in the vicinity of his heart and an uncomfortable rolling in his stomach. Was this how Maric had felt that same night? Maker, it was awful. No wonder the man had drunk himself into a stupor.

Loghain had become so focused on watching Tearanae's path through the hall and the old memories that swam up of their own accord, that he missed the first half of whatever it was his daughter tried to say to him when she turned his way. To his embarrassment he had to ask her to repeat herself. Anora shot him a warm and slightly smug smile over the rim of her wine glass. A twinkle in her eye told him that she considered something slyly confirmed. "What I said, dearest father, is if one did not know better they would think this match were one made for love; rather than by my machinations."

The Teyrn glowered at his daughter, giving her a light, scathing glance and an unhappy twist of his mouth. "You've begun to fall for your own scheme then Anora. I could hardly say that there is love between us."

His golden-haired daughter simply shook her head and looked down at her plate in triumphant pleasure. "Deny all you like father. The murmurs of the servants and peasantry are beginning to agree with me. They are convinced that you have already had your wicked way with her."

This revelation nearly made Loghain choke on his mead. He barely managed to keep it down and droplets of the sweet alcohol dripped down his chin. He hastily wiped it away and turned indignantly to his queenly child, "I've what?! How on earth did they reach that ridiculous assumption?!" he sputtered, looking about half as insulted as he felt. Did they assume he had no self-control? How quickly the rumor mill seemed to pick up the play Anora had put in place.

The queen's expression grew speculative, as if she either did not believe her father's outburst or else did not truly believe in the rumors after all. "Apparently a few maids claim to have caught you fleeing her chambers, disheveled and as red in the face as a blushing virgin." she stated primly.

Loghain barely restrained the urge to beat his head against the table in front of him. But of course someone had caught sight of him then. The maker could be cruel indeed.

"I assure you Anora, there has been no such inappropriate behavior between the Warden Commander and myself." He told her as sincerely as he dared. It was only a lie in the strictest sense of the word. A kiss, no matter how heated, was not an act of congress after all.

Anora seemed unimpressed by his assurances but said no more on the subject. No longer the focus of her attention, Loghain was free to turn his eyes back to the lower hall. Unfortunately for him it was just in time to see his betrothed turning away from a table as a man promptly fell into a bowl of prawn's legs dead asleep. A clamor erupted around him as it seemed no one was able to rouse him from his sudden stupor. There were a few likely culprits for the man's sudden case of narcolepsy. But of them Loghian was sure that it had been the elven mage who now looked quite satisfied with herself as she returned to serving a few Grey Wardens who also seemed well aware of what she had done.

Catching his fiance's eye, Loghain rose his cup and gestured for her to return to him. She smiled brightly and easily maneuvered her way back up to the head table. As she leaned over to pour a healthy amount of mead into his empty container he pulled forward to whisper in her ear, " I take it that Arl Garick's son did not intend to take a sudden nap in a dish full of prawns and butter?" he asked in mild amusement.

She laughed cheerily, her breath tickling his neck with her sweet breath. "I considered a bout of sleep far kinder than the slap across the face he deserved for sliding his hand up my thigh beneath my skirt." she whispered back, a bite of irritation to her tone despite the smile upon her face.

The River Dane frowned and found himself placing a possessive hand upon her own. "Upstart brat." he growled, his back bristling, "A beating would be the least he deserves."

The elf drew back slightly to gaze at him in slight surprise. Color briefly flooded her face and she studied him carefully from beneath her long lashes. "Careful m'lord, someone might accuse you of jealousy." she commented, her tone hesitant…but hopeful.

And, damn him, he stirred to hear that bit of hope. He sent her a rather wicked smile over the rim of his cup as he rose it for a drink and stared straight into those bright eyes of hers. "Of the Garick boy? Hardly. I'm quite sure only a man who knows well what he's doing will manage to satisfy you m'lady." He teased.

She flushed nearly the same color of her hair and bit her bottom lip. Her whole body gave a shudder at his tone and he lowered his cup slowly as anticipation filled him. She set her large mead pitcher down on the table and leaned across to kiss him, nearly causing him to spill the mead in his hand. Her lips were hungry against his and despite himself he eagerly returned her gesture. Until the sound of cheering and his daughter's almost scandalized gasp forced them both to draw away. Neither one appeared too sorry however as when they turned to the crowd someone (Loghain suspected a certain heavily drunk dwarf sitting at the Grey Warden table) shouted, "Oi! Save it fer another night you two! You ain't married yet!"

Laughter erupted and both Tearanae and Loghain had the forbearance to look at least somewhat chagrined and apologetic. A brief glance between them was enough for anyone to tell they were far from embarrassed though.


	8. Lay in the Bed I Made

Loghain's sleep was far from peaceful. He was kept awake and turning in his bed with frightening 'what-ifs' concerning the next day. And when those faded he was plagued with torturous fantasies of a wanton elf pinned beneath him, crying out his name in ecstasy. He didn't know how but somehow, in the middle of the night, he fell into an abrupt and dreamless sleep. He spent the rest of the night that way, dead to the world as the hours until his wedding ticked by. When he at last did awaken it was far later than he was used to, the sun already up and ascending quickly in the sky. In fact there were several servants already blithely dashing about getting his things ready for his wedding day.

He ate a mild breakfast, which sat in his in his gut like lead as he allowed himself to be dressed in his wedding finery. Anora had decided to place him in his infamous River Dane armor, shined and mended to its best appearance. The full plate armor fit better than new when he at last got it on and the familiar feel of it was comforting to his aggravated nerves. Upon his shoulders and at his waist the colors of Gawaren were latched to him in the form of an expensive belt and a plush cloak of autumn red colors. Then, rather than allow him his helm, it was decided that he should wear a bronze circlet dotted with the same red gems which adorned his belt. Looking at himself in the mirror it was clear what his daughter and Queen intended for him.

She wished for the populace to view him as he had been for most of his life. The grand hero who had led Maric's armies and helped the ragged Prince reclaim his throne. This was how she intended to win the little game she'd begun. And although Loghain doubted it work as well as his daughter hoped he accepted the role she had given him. He grateful for it even, if it meant that he could sit comfortably in his armor and not some fine suit of silks and furs she might have otherwise planned.

He rose his head high and allowed himself to be escorted to the Grand Hall where his half of the wedding party was waiting for him, Anora at its head. She looked quite fine herself, dressed in a gown of rich purple and deep gold trim. She appeared more a Queen today than she nearly ever had. Her chin was held high and her stature was tall, prim, and pristine. He sighed inwardly, sure that the dress was there to hide the insecurities that ate at her. He took her hands as he approached and kissed each of her cheeks, standing back to smile at her. "You look beautiful Anora, are you sure it is not you who will be wed today?" he asked a bit cheekily.

His daughter and queen smiled, but did not laugh as she might have when she was younger. Instead she folded her hands politely before her and kept her head high. "You should save such compliments for your bride father. This is her day, after all, not mine. I would hate to outshine her."

Ah, he thought, but that is exactly what you intend to do. His daughter was no fool. She wanted to strip the Warden Commander of her influence over the common folk, make it clear that she was the power that guided the nation…and not the wisp of a thing that saved it. It was a desperate move, but as her father he could understand it. Nodding simply to his daughter he turned toward the opposite hallway leading to the Grand Hall to await the second half of the wedding party…and his bride.

He did not wait long. The clamor of cheerful chatter accompanying her troupe like the soft clamor of song birds as they entered the hall. With the King dressed in the suit of rich furs and silks Loghain had feared would be placed on him, on her right and the First Enchanter escorting her by the hand on the left, his bride turned and came into the Grand Hall. Her retainers lined behind her looked like a cascade of shimmering moonlight with dots of the sky peeking through here and there were many dressed in her colors to show their allegiance. Most of her retainers were her Grey Wardens and Loghain recognized a great deal of them. Including the dark-haired dwarven woman and the fair-haired Dalish elf who carried her long and beautiful train. It was as silver as mist, lined with soft white feathers and dotted with rubies as dark as blood. The train was clasped as a cloak around her shoulders by a thick but elegant chain of white steel and draped over the shoulders of her wedding gown.

It was blue, as light as the sky at dawn, with lace sewn like fading starlight into each hem. At her waist was a belt of dark, rich blue, lined and traced with silver vines and lilies carved from mother of pearl. The belt was matched by the white-steel circlet stuck within her intricate braids upon her head, each lily an accent to an elegant red curve. And from the circlet hung a delicate veil of dripping blue and silver lace which cascaded down her back and lingered over half of her face. Even the points of her large and long-pointed ears seemed to only be accented by the dips and valleys of the fragile accent. Anora had failed, there would be no outshining the Commander of the Grey with her order's griffon standing out brazenly in deep rich blue at the base of her train. The elf looked like a shimmering creature of the fade born from all the best dreams men have of women in the early beginnings of the night.

Or so Loghain thought. Perhaps he was simply taking from his own dreams of the night before. However it was, it was clear that the elf had outmaneuvered his daughter one more time. Anora, as rich and royal as she appeared with her gilded crown upon her head, looked like but an accent next to Tearanae in her bridal gown. She looked up at him with her sharp blue eyes and smiled demurely as she allowed Irving to lead her forward. The old mage smiled both proudly and wistfully…as a true father might at his daughter's wedding day and Loghain felt nearly ashamed that the elf had no real family to stand beside her on this day. From behind the First Enchanter, Knight Commander Gregoir strode forth to stand beside the elf as well, his grim face seeming almost the same as the old mage's. It struck Loghain as odd, but then the elf had shown clear consideration for both the Templar's as well as the mage's of the circle tower.

Perhaps both men were like father's to her, and the old general gave a respectful nod to them both. When he turned his steely gaze back upon his bride he spotted a light color to her cheeks as she blushed under his stare and there was a slight nervous shift as Irving brought her hand out for Loghain to take. He did so and was surprised to find her fingertips quivering. The First Enchanter chuckled at the look of mild surprise no doubt sitting upon the River Dane's face before he patted Tearanae comfortingly upon the hand and stood back to say with careful dictation. "I Irving, First Enchanter of the Circle of Magi of Fereldon, hereby present to you; Teyrn Loghain; on behalf of this woman, the Circle of Magi, and the kingdom of Ferelden, Arl Tearanae Surana, Commander of the Grey. May the life you live together be a long, happy, and prosperous one." The First Enchanter's speech was formal, and a touch sentimental, but Loghain could hardly find fault with it.

After he finished speaking Irving stepped back and the Knight Commander took his place, his face more grimly set than the man who had gone before him. "I, Knight Commander Gregoir of Fereldon, hereby act as witness to this woman's will and intent. I shall stand as witness on her behalf on this blessed day and act no longer as her guardian and shepherd as she is given to you as bride, by the will of the Maker. May your union be blessed with fruitful years to come." Gregoir's speech was no less formal than the First Enchanter's had been. But there was a touch of warning behind his tone. A warning perhaps that surprised Loghain to hear from a templar on the behalf of a mage.

Regardless the River Dane nodded and gently squeezed the elf's hand with his own as he raised it to his mouth to brush his lips over her knuckles in a kiss. "With my sword I shall fight for you, with my shield I will defend you. With my life I shall cherish you. Though you are mine, I am also yours." he intoned, his eyes directed at hers, watching as each word that passed his lips made her pulse increase slightly in the palm he held. He could not think why it would, but the fact that it did made his ego swell just slightly.

Her eyes were direct as she gazed up at him from beneath her veil and braids, her long lashes making her seem shy although he knew she was anything but. "With my sword I shall fight for you. With my will I shall defend you. May you never fall nor falter so long as my love for you endures. Though I am yours, you are also mine." she stated clearly.

There was an almost uncomfortable shift in the air. Her reply was far from traditional and an uncomfortable murmur began to rise behind Loghain's back from amongst his more conservative supporters. They, and even a few within his bride's retinue, began to quietly mutter their disapproval …and Loghain found himself scowling. Not at her, but at the ill-speaking lot around them. With a quick but harsh glare he silenced the nay-sayers and then turned back to the elf with a smile touched with pride. Quickly, before he could change his mind, he dipped his head and kissed her. It was light and innocent, not at all like the kiss they had shared the night before but it was enough to shift the quiet in the room into a new sort of tense atmosphere. Both he and the elf seemed unsure of how to settle the group for once and they stood awkwardly until the clear sound of one clearing throat shattered the thick air.

The King, shooting them both a somewhat speculative glance with a slightly raised brow shook his head and gave them a small twisted smile. "If you're both quite done. I believe we have a church to get to." He commented easily, only the slightest tone of annoyance in his voice. The boy really was improving. Loghain felt himself smile at the lad, Maric would have been proud.

The petite elven woman gave a small laugh at the King's comment and granted him a thankful smile. "After you, your Majesty."

The King gave a roll of his eyes and muttered something that Loghain was sure amounted to something close to, 'Alistair, honestly how hard is it for someone to say?'. Both Loghain and his bride chuckled softly at this and the King spared them one last glare, with no real heat to it before turning back to lead the wedding party down the Grand Hall to the Palace doors.

With a large sweeping gesture and no small amount of fanfare the doors were swept open. As they left the palace and the enormous crowd spotted them the uproar was such that it felt like thunder breaking. It nearly threw him back and off his feet it was so strong. It was the nudge from the small elf beside him that reminded him to raise his hand and wave. The cheering continued as they were led down the palace steps, the guards dressed in their pristine parade armor drew in around them to keep the crowd safely at bay. Normally the King and Queen would walk as the head of such a procession, but it seemed Anora had thought it prudent to put her father first on his wedding day.

Ultimately, it was for the best, the crowd seemed to have forgotten that Anora and Alistair were there at all. Their cries were for the small elf beside him and, to a lesser extent, himself. But he was under no illusions, the people cared for her. She knew exactly how to earn their favor…perhaps better than Anora did. Perhaps that was because Anora was deceptive, manipulative. She knew the game of politics and she played it well.

But Loghain was beginning to sense that it was far different for the elf. Nothing was a game to her. Everything she did, she did because she knew it was right. Like a calculated recipe in one of her potions. Perhaps, to her, the world was like a complex potion. If she put in the right ingredients she would get the perfect result… perhaps she thought she would heal the world. He might have thought her naive…if she were not so damn good at maneuvering around that exact idea.

They descended the steps of the palace surrounded by guards and then walked on foot through the city until they reached the chantry. The templars met them at the doors and escorted them inside, adding themselves to the retinue of guards surrounding them, keeping the majority of Denerim at bay as the wedding party filed in behind them. The bells of the chantry rang out about them. Twelve times, to mark the start of the ceremonies. The brazier was aflame, as it always was and the Grand Cleric came to stand before it, her arms raised high. She began the regular intonations of the chant and Loghain sat upon his knees with the petite elf at his side as they were married before his daughter…and the whole of Denerim.

….

Weddings had never been long affairs in Ferelden and while weddings for royalty and nobility had a tendency toward longer affairs it seemed that the choice had been made somewhere down the line to keep the ceremony traditionally short. For which Loghain was thankful, that as their marriage was solidified he would not have to sit there biding through a long ceremony. Their hands were bound and they shared a kiss, more for show than any other they had previously engaged in. And then …it was over.

They left the way they had come, the wedding party filing into line behind them. They walked hand in hand to Arl Eamon's grand home in the very center of the city. The grand reception was bright and the largest affair Loghain had seen since Maric was crowned and wed to Rowan. Outside the hall he could hear the echoes of the whole of Denerim celebrating the marriage of two of the greatest heroes. Inside the hall the landsmeet had gathered along with the Grey Wardens and even a few foreign dignitaries to put on a royal affair fit for two people of such high prestige.

Loghain would have preferred to be out amongst the common folk. The stuffy and uptight atmosphere of his own reception was proving to be almost suffocating. Surprisingly enough it was the elf that made the event bearable for him. She remained by his side and helped him traverse their many meetings with subtly and grace. It helped that she seemed to have influence in many of the circles of power that had come to be seen or else to see her. There were very few who approached him with the intent to either influence the queen or else to garner his favor.

In fact, he was beginning to think he had been forgotten until he was approached late in the evening by, of all things, a dignitary sent from the Chantry. She was a dark, but comely lass about the age of the queen and although dressed in a fine dress of Chantry colors she carried herself as if she were clothed in mail. "M'lord Loghain, may I speak to you a moment privately?" she asked, her voice soft and demure. Too soft for Loghain's taste, her presence felt…wrong almost. Tearanae seemed to recognize it as well as the elf's gentle grip on his arm tightened slightly.

Yet another group of Orlesians was approaching however and the old Dane could see the calculation running through her eyes. As if she were laying out a battle plan and weighing her options. "You can cease your plotting girl, and stop worrying. I may not be as talented as you at subterfuge but I am no stranger to politics. Have your chat with the perfumed usurpers. I'll see to this and return after they've ceased bothering you with their flowery presence." he scoffed, smirking slightly.

The elf shot him a brief look of surprise, clearly caught of guard by how well he was able to see through her. She paused and then relented with a nod and smile, releasing him to intercept the Orlesian dignitaries before they could incense him with their presence. Relieved of his new bride Loghain turned to the chantry dignitary and gestured for her to walk with him. They walked together away from the main hall to an alcove where they could better hear one another. "So, Cass was it?" he asked her, when they were at last alone.

The woman tilted her chin upward in a show of pride, "Cassandra, m'lord. I'm called Cassandra Pentaghast." The softness gone from her tone. It seemed she was done with attempting to sweet talk him then. Good, he preferred things that way.

Loghain restrained himself from rolling his eyes in irritation. "Very well then. What would you have of me then, Cassandra."

The woman hesitated a brief moment as she tucked her hands behind her back, as if carefully choosing her words. "Are you aware of the current state of affairs in Kirkwall m'lord Loghain."

The old general paused, his brow furrowing slightly. "I would have to be deaf to not have heard of the Qunari attack and the murder of Viscount Dumar. What I fail to see is what events in Kirkwall have to do with me."

Again the woman hesitated and Loghain felt himself clenching his right hand, wanting a sword to threaten her with if it would mean she would get to the point quicker. "The events which led to the attack by the Qunari have placed the Chantry in a delicate state. There are implications that a member of the Chantry may have helped instigate the violence and may have attempted to garner Chantry sympathy by framing the Qunari for the murder of the Viscounts son. What's more the unrest between the templars and mages there-"

Loghain took a single step into the woman's personal space and glared down at her. "Perhaps I have failed to make myself clear. This is my wedding night, and your prattling is keeping me from my place and, quite frankly, I am beginning to feel as if you are wasting my time. So please…get to the point." he growled.

The woman flinched slightly but did not back down. Rather a hard and almost hateful edge came to her eyes. "Your _marriage_ is precisely the reason I am here m'sere." she stated in a clipped tone, spitting out the word 'marriage' as if she found his bond to the elf to be…repugnant. "The woman- the _mage_ you have married may have direct ties to key members contributing to the unrest in Kirkwall. A great precedent is being set in that city as we speak, and the Chantry fears that your _wife_ may be influencing events in the Free Marches."

Loghain let out a short breath of irritation but stepped out of the woman's personal space to cross his arms. It was clear now that this woman had a distinct dislike for the elven woman he'd married. No doubt because of the power she wielded. He had little doubt that her prejudice was born from the fact that Tearanae was a mage. But more than that he feared this hatred stemmed from the simple fact that the elf had become a mage with a new sort of fearful power. Political influence. Yes, he could see why the Chantry would be nervous about that. Although it seemed to him that the elf had done more to aid the Chantry than any of it's own agents.

"What interest would my wife have in the affairs of Kirkwall. It is neither a Ferelden territory, nor a true victim of the blight. I hope you have something solid to back up your claims or else I may find myself inclined to throw you from these halls myself for slandering an Arl." he commented dryly, his steely gaze hardening.

"Kirkwall may not be of much Ferelden interest, but Grey Warden activity in the area has seen a stark increase since the end of the so-called fifth Blight." Cassandra bit out. Loghain drew himself up, almost ready to act upon his threat of casting her from the hall for even entertaining the idea that what had happened in Ferelden was no true blight, despite having said so once himself. The stain of corruption still littered the land. It was obvious to anyone who visited. But the Orlesian wench interrupted him, "What's more a rogue Grey Warden mage has been on the run from Templars in the city for some time. Spreading slander and anarchist propaganda. A mage who was inducted into the Grey Warden order by the woman you claim as your wife."

This caused Loghain to pause. This was disheartening information to hear. If true, Tearanae may very well have been involved. She treated those she brought into the order like family. He was well aware of the lengths she would be willing to go to protect those she deemed under her protection. Roused and having come to the conclusion that she had gained ground for her cause, Cassandra smiled almost victoriously and pushed on before he could retort. "What's more the pirate thief nearly directly responsible for the Qunari attack is rumored to have had intimate knowledge of the Arl and her missing brother-in-arms."

This may have had the opposite effect she was searching for. Instead of sparking in him fury that his new bride was not some blushing virgin…it incensed him against the dark woman standing before him. He stepped into her personal space once more and placed a harsh hand on her arm. "You have ten seconds to tell me what it is you are after before I drag you from these halls and toss you into the street myself." he snarled, his eyes livid.

The woman visibly balked and attempted to wrench her arm free to no avail. At last deciding she had no chance of escape she calmed and stared him down. "She is your wife now m'sere. If anyone in the whole of Thedas is capable of discovering where her loyalties truly lie and how far her influence reaches…it is you. The Chantry simply hopes you will help steer those loyalties in the correct direction."

Loghain growled and tossed the Chantry delegate away, nearly knocking her to the floor as she stumbled into the opposing wall. "If I am to guide her loyalties in any direction, I shall direct her back to Ferelden. The Divines have seen fit to ignore the home of Andraste and it's troubles. Why shouldn't Ferelden's champion provide the Chantry the same courtesy?" he spat before turning on his heel and returning to the grand hall.

It took only one brief glance around the grand hall to find his bride. The elf a standing isle of silver and flame amongst a crowd of royal purple and gold as she spoke with Anora and Alistair. As Loghain watched he could see that, for the first time, his daughter seemed at ease with the elf's presence. And that thought granted him a small amount of peace. He waded through the throng to join the three of them. As if by natural circumstance he entwined his arm with his elven bride and stood beside her, letting her presence calm him as he listened to his daughter and Tearanae discuss the difficulties facing the agricultural trade and how it might be amended.

He could see the way that Maric's bastard tried to keep up with the conversation, clearly listening in and attempting to learn…if not to offer an opinion. It surprised him for Cailan had such little interest in the true mechanics of ruling when he'd been king. He'd been flighty and pig-headed…the way Maric had been when Loghain had first met the boy king. But Alistair seemed to be Maric as he was when he'd been content with ruling. And, though not for the first time, Loghain wondered if Maric had not backed the wrong child for a place upon the throne. It might have saved them all a great deal of trouble. He reminded himself that he had a hand in that decision…but settled with it all the same. He had not had control over the man. Maric had made the decision himself. Tradition and propriety made fools of them all it seemed.

When at last the festivities came to an end the royal party rode back to the palace by horse-drawn carriage. The carriage itself was open and the wedding party was forced to provide one last celebratory wave and smile for the crowds of now drunk and nearly riotous crowds of common-folk and peasantry. The guards were having a hard time keeping them all back as they made their way slowly back to the palace's lower gate. The entire time the elf seemed to grow nervous beside him, her grip on his hand almost painful from the way she squeezed it. He wondered why she, of all people, would be afraid of the common people…when they seemed to adore her so much. He thought back to his discussion with the Chantry delegate and admitted that she was perhaps right to be afraid. An assassin would have no more perfect a moment to strike at her …or either of them for that matter…then at that moment.

But nothing transpired and as they entered the palace everything seemed to transpiring as smooth as silk. They continued through the halls of the palace to their own quarters, now a joint suite not far from the royal chambers. At the doors all save their own inner circle of attendants and overseers remained to witness as Loghain lifted his petite bride, train and all, and carried her across the threshold into their new chambers. He set her back on her feet and both of them…too tired to argue…allowed their servants to pull them away so they could be undressed.

As Loghain was stripped of his armor and wedding finery he began to feel a twitch of nervousness beneath the exhaustion of the day. This was his wedding night. When the servants were done with him he would be left alone. With that heavenly beautiful creature of mist and fire who looked like an innocent and kissed like a wanton concubine. Despite himself he began to shudder in anticipation as the servants filtered out one by one. Finally he was left alone, standing in nothing more than his smalls beside his bed. He stared at the screen where the silhouette of his elven bride could be seen. Nothing more than a simple silk shift left to her…he wondered if she would be bare beneath it. The idea was almost too much to bear.

He stood there for a long moment before he realized that she hadn't moved an inch since the servants had left them. In fact, she seemed to be standing there, playing with her hands. He furrowed his brow in thought and then couldn't help but smile…the damnable waif was more nervous than he was. He crossed his arms and smirked at the screen. "Will you be coming out sometime tonight or must I come get you?" he drawled.

He watched as she gave a small jump and tucked her hands behind her back as if he were her tutor and had caught her staring at out a window rather than focusing on her lessons. "I…of course I will. I just- I simply…need a moment." she stammered. She turned and seemed to be fidgeting with something and Loghain chuckled and began to take steady steps in her direction. He could see the way she went abruptly stiff and backed up against the edge of the screen. He smirked, and continued until he was at the edge of the screen.

He could hear her breath catching in her throat. He pushed back the screen in one smooth motion and found her practically cuddled into a corner beside a chair. He was right about her silk shift, he could practically see straight through it, beneath he was wearing only her smalls. Her hair was undone and in a tumble of waves and curls. Her face was flushed and she was clinging to the front of her shift, bunching it up in her lap. "Wait I-" she began only to be interrupted as he lifted her and carried her half-draped over his shoulder.

"I did warn you I'd come get you." He told her, amused with himself as much as he was with the way she squirmed in his hold.

"You didn't give me any time! I- I needed to prepare." she barked, still attempting to break loose even as he came to the foot of the bed they would be sharing. He set her down without much ceremony and she bounced lightly before she settled, curling up a bit and gazing up at him with a nervous glance.

"Forgive me m'lady but I don't believe there is much more you can do to prepare for what is now ahead of us. "

The elf turned a particularly sharp shade of red and released a sharp sound of amusement. "May I…may I assume you are referring to the fact that we are now bound to spending the rest of our lives together?"

Loghain's mouth pulled into a small smirk, "No, no I am not."

The red faded from her face and she managed to smile at him, though it was touched with uncertainty. "Ah…I see. Forgive me, it's just…this…all of this. Was thrust upon you, and I do not even know if it's what you desire or if you are doing it simply out of a sense of duty. I would…understand, if you found me to be undesirable."

He scoffed and pulled her to him by her wrist, holding her against his chest. "You are, a most frustrating creature. Did you know that?" He told her, giving a frustrated sigh as he pulled her face to his and kissed her, deeply. Like that first strange kiss, she hesitated at first before responding. When she did it was like sparks flying off an anvil, or a raging dragon's fire. Passionate, fiery, and nearly all-consuming. She ran her hands over his bare arms and he gave a light shudder as he pulled away.

"How could any man alive on Thedas find you undesirable?" he murmured, brushing her hair back from her face, behind her large, long, pointed ears.

Tearanae quivered beneath his touch and glanced away. "Every man who has ever desired me has abandoned me. So you'll forgive me if I'm a little…self-depreciating."

Loghain stared at her in slight surprise for a moment before took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He brushed his hand under her chin and tilted her face up to look at him. "Then they must be true idiots. I may not have always thought so, but you are remarkable…as well as beautiful. I may not have asked for this union of ours…but I do not resent it."

She gazed at him in near disbelief before her lips twitched into a truly wicked smile. "I'm not particularly resentful of it either." she told him before her hand found a particularly lewd place to settle.

"Somehow I get the feeling you will be the death of me…one way or another." he breathed before his hands found the belt of her robe and pulled it free.

Whatever resistance, hesitance, or innocence might have remained in the elf melted away in that moment and in their place was the woman he'd glimpsed in their lustful kisses. He cradled her smaller body as he aided her in casting aside her small clothes. Beneath he found her pale and dotted with thin white scars. Three in particular around her chest and shoulders, remnants, obviously of arrows. He traced the one over her right breast, near to her heart, with his hand and then with his mouth. She moaned and arched against him before she shuddered and traced her hands through his hair. Her slim fingers were cool to the touch and flowed through his hair like water.

She boiled in his touch, his hands tracing over her breasts and then down her sides, over her hips and across her waist. She was shuddering beneath his touch, aching and emitting quiet sighs of pleasure. She traced her pretty legs across his torso and thighs. He tried to think how it had been with the women he'd been with before. Yet there was no comparison. Just when he thought he had a grip on her or had caused her to finally be lulled into complacency with pleasure, she would turn the tables on him. Her hands would follow the lines of his muscles or she would press her body against his so perfectly or in just the right way to throw him completely off-balance.

She was like wrestling with a snake. A bloodly wyrm that couldn't keep it's various appendages to itself. Growing impatient with her, he took her by her hands and pinned them above her head, giving a brief snarl and staring down at her with a feral grimace. "You impish little waif, do you ever just lie still for a moment?"

She snickered and grinned at him, "Not in these instances, no." she mused. She pushed her hips up to rub against his and he took in a sharp breath. "I've learned too much from antivans to rogues…and a few things from a pirate."

He tilted his head at her curiously, "Well…I wasn't aware of that last one."

She chuckled slightly and tilted her chin down in a demure display, "Does it at all change your view of me?"

His lips twitched into a smirk, "Not at all. You are still an impossible, stubborn, and impish wench." He punctuated each descriptive word with a kiss upon her squirming form. At her neck, her collarbone, and then he came to her breasts. He placed his lips against one rosy nub and then traced it with his tongue. She gasped and shuddered, her body arching beneath his hands. He let his teeth scrape lightly against it and then suckled at the nipple a tad harshly. She let out a glorious cry and her hips rose, pushing herself against him.

He groaned, the feel of her against him like a torturous strain of luxury he had never known. He had never felt rich, not in all his life. Not even when he sat upon the throne on behalf of his daughter. He had never felt as if anything he touched or held was as luxurious as what those Orlesians so loved to speak of. But her, she was as soft as new fawn skin, as warm as fresh milk, and the taste of her was like honey on his tongue. With her in his hands, crying sweet musical tones of pleasure and delight, he felt wrapped in luxury and a rich man at last.

He wanted more of her, as much as she could give. He let his mouth trail down further, tracing the curve of her stomach down to her navel. She began to shiver in his hands as his mouth and tongue traced her navel and the line of her belly. She was soft on the surface, but he could feel the muscle she'd developed in the past few years. Swordplay had begun to set into stone what had already been carved into her figure by her adventures fighting against him and the blight. And beneath that was still more power. Power enough to slay dragons, old gods, darkspawn, and demons. Magic so strong it had held him fast and knocked the breath from his lungs. Even now he could feel it. Like lightning singing his fingertips.

She was a mewling mess beneath him as he took her hips and rose them to meet his. He pressed himself against her wet entrance and she sighed his name. That utterance felt like a spell falling upon him, washing over him and absolving him of his sins. He prayed to the Maker to forgive him, for he felt that if he had her at that moment, then he could be forgiven of anything. He pushed into her and found no resistance. And the second he had her…she had him as well.

Her legs locked around his waist and pulled him in close. She rose up to meet him and wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers dancing delicately across his vertebrae and pulse. Her mouth found his and pulled him into a dance of tongues and teeth. She was not pliant and docile his new wife. She was like a fire. Warm and inviting, but impossible to truly control. She prodded and guided him so expertly he would have thought her the one who was older and filled with experience.

He had never known such pleasure. Not in the arms of his dear parted wife, nor in the arms of the woman who would be his queen. This elf, who seized power for the sake of others, showed him her passion through strokes of her hand or her leg, kisses and bites, soft utterances and loud cries. He was pounding into her near the end, he was rough and harsh as he had never sought to be in the bed chamber before. Yet she was screaming out with pleasure, sweat soaking out and making her skin glisten. She curled around him and then shouted his name as she came.

He could do nothing but follow quickly after her. In her wake, as always. He rolled to the side as exhaustion hit him and for a moment they lay there…panting. Both attempting to gain back their breath. It might have ended there. But not long after he had calmed he had felt her hands on him once more. She climbed atop him, grinning and glowing like a demon, and rode him to their mutual satisfaction once more.

Each time he thought her finished she would drag him back in for more. Always more. Taking and giving until neither one of them could stand. When at last she was spent, a tired, fragile little thing half asleep and dazed from pleasure he rose to bring a wash basin to their bed side. He gently washed her, her flesh rippling under his touch the way a horse does after traveling quickly for miles. She slipped into sleep as he tended her, a light smile gracing her lips. He took pleasure in that…he knew her dreams could not be easy to bear. He still remembered the nights she awoke screaming from terror in their make-shift camps on their way to Red Cliff and Soldier's Peak.

And there had been nights since then, though far less in frequency, when he would hear her…late in the night.

When he finished with her he renewed the basin and cleaned himself, letting himself take delight in the coolness of the water. He had grown so warm, bathed in her fire. He climbed in beside her only when he could find no lingering spot of sweat stuck to him. He pulled her into his arms, unable to deny that he wanted her there. And allowed himself to slip away into sleep.


End file.
